I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Not needing to do anything left him restless, so he allowed his fingers to rest along the gate, swinging it back and forth, testing, listening, for the lack of a residual squeak. Only thereafter did he arch his brow and realize what she was grabbing – cards. Brief reminders of Mildew, of the way he fought and still declined to think the materials had the ability to read his fate, for he carved his own, flickered, embedded, around bitter days and ends. Or even of Chaele, reader of intestines and organs, that he still found utterly bizarre, and his eyes narrowed. Speculatively, pondering, wondering, if there were other special figments surrounding it, and if he’d once again find himself wrinkling his nose at the notions.
Though, he supposed, the demigod hadn’t been wrong before. They’d found alternate routes to snag Halo again. They’d conquered and snagged in a different way; with the people’s blessing, and Neron taking out his own means to an end in Morgan.
Deimos wouldn’t know what many of them signified anyway – so when he found himself watching, glancing, at the miniature mount and its use of supplies, he almost smiled. As for the notions, they were likely, deliberately, vague enough to fit some bill – and as Warden, there were always things going on, new projects, his and Evie’s home, the springs ready to be hastened by Frey’s nature aspects. Or even the inquiry he had of what they’d seen amidst the wide-open mountains; a hesitation within his soul because, in some part, he dreaded the potential answer. “Interesting. Thank you.” His eyes glanced back to her, with a significant arch to her brow. “We do have some projects here finishing, and other starting. And your illusion does lend more explanation than description alone,” jutting his jawline towards the image before it diminished. “The more cards pulled, the more you will require your magic, but gain in precision and control.” Maybe another provocation, to see if she thought it’d be worth it.
Though, he supposed, the demigod hadn’t been wrong before. They’d found alternate routes to snag Halo again. They’d conquered and snagged in a different way; with the people’s blessing, and Neron taking out his own means to an end in Morgan.
Deimos wouldn’t know what many of them signified anyway – so when he found himself watching, glancing, at the miniature mount and its use of supplies, he almost smiled. As for the notions, they were likely, deliberately, vague enough to fit some bill – and as Warden, there were always things going on, new projects, his and Evie’s home, the springs ready to be hastened by Frey’s nature aspects. Or even the inquiry he had of what they’d seen amidst the wide-open mountains; a hesitation within his soul because, in some part, he dreaded the potential answer. “Interesting. Thank you.” His eyes glanced back to her, with a significant arch to her brow. “We do have some projects here finishing, and other starting. And your illusion does lend more explanation than description alone,” jutting his jawline towards the image before it diminished. “The more cards pulled, the more you will require your magic, but gain in precision and control.” Maybe another provocation, to see if she thought it’d be worth it.
DEIMOS
